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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120952">Reunion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gentree/pseuds/Gentree'>Gentree</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Arcana (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Birblian, Other, Reverse ending</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:28:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120952</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gentree/pseuds/Gentree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been five months since Julian sold his soul to the Devil. You and Scout set out to find him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julian Devorak/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>It’s been five months.</em> </p><p><em>Five months without a word, hint, or sign.</em> </p><p>The world has changed: the laws of nature have been altered or abolished, and Vesuvia is the epicentre of chaos. The streets turn and end at will. A mental map of a city that once was is no guarantee of finding your current destination. Doors are capable of opening into foreign rooms and vast outdoor spaces. Once, you nearly careened over a cliffside trying to open a broom closet. The bottom of the drop was shrouded in mist, but if you strained to listen, you could hear waves under the whistling of the wind. It took several minutes after shutting the door for the sound of gulls and the smell of sea air to dissipate. When you opened the door again, your broom handles were gritty with salt, and the floor was sprinkled with sand. You wander aimlessly at times, allowing your magic and intuition to pull you. You always end up back at the door to your shop, no matter how far you wander. Food is never in short supply: your magic leads you to it. You find it sprouting and appearing in unlikely places. The flavour is muted, and any food feels reliably gelatinous in your mouth. You don’t have much of an appetite anyway. </p><p>Trade has been disrupted, merchants are prone to getting lost. What is available for purchase is limited. Money is diminishing in value and meaning. There is no talk of other nations and no threat of war. Apathy has been cast over the citizens like a thick blanket of snow; the city is quiet and grey. Existence continues in bubbles and pockets. There are those with no magical sense who lose sight of their homes and cannot find them again, and so they resort to thievery and violence. The monarchy remains, but there is no way to efficiently govern a population so isolated and dispersed. Time feels meaningless. Life exists in the here, now, and the anxious future; the past is too painful. All orders come from the Devil on high, and they are few and decidedly obtuse. They spread like fire through the underbrush, from one traveller to another, down winding dirt highways. You’ve taken to believing they’re all pointless on purpose, to confuse and mislead. After all, the Devil deals in disorder. You pay little mind. You feel the Devil has taken all that matters from you, and you are preoccupied with your own concerns. You haven’t seen Asra, Nadia, or Portia since the boundary between realms was broken. There are moments you forget their names or faces. </p><p>Most importantly, you don’t know what happened to Julian after he sold his soul. Sometimes, you think you feel his aura nearby, but the searches turn up fruitless. You wander through an ever changing-world, clutching the cards, hoping for direction. You have a reoccurring dream of Scout reaching out her paw. You hand over the deck and make a deal. Scout disappears, and when you wake, your cards are heavy in your pocket; or conspicuous on the end table. </p><p>One evening you are attempting to read tea leaves at the dinner table, and you feel a slight body wind around your ankle. You jump and push the tablecloth aside. Faust smiles and flicks her tongue at you, slithering up your calf. </p><p>“Oh, Faust!” relief overwhelms you: instantaneous and cold, like dousing your face with water. Tears blur your vision. You reach out your hand, and she winds around your wrist. Movement in your peripheral vision causes you to glance into the mirror across from you. For a split second, you see Asra’s form in the glass. His fleeting, sombre expression burns into your mind’s eye. You slump like a wilting flower, feeling penitent.</p><p>You stand to look out the window, hoping to see Asra, and the weight on your wrist vanishes. When you look back down, Faust isn’t there. You grasp your wrist, the skin is still warm. Scout sits in the chair beside yours. You instinctively touch your pocket; the deck is gone. </p><p>“What’s happening?” you ask her.</p><p>Scout points to the standing clock against the wall. You don’t recall it being there before. It’s 12 a.m: it’s time. For what, you’re unsure, but you feel relieved nonetheless. Your intuition tells you that if you leave your shop now, you may never see it again. Scout stands wearily, and you follow her to the front door. You cast a final glance over the dusty glass counters and the magical implements of your shop before you step outside. </p><p>Scout walks briskly down the street. You hurry to catch up, but your feet sink into the ground with each step. The cobblestones break apart, and water rises between them. You are wading through a fast-moving river. The current pushes against your thighs and pulls the road away. A hole forms in the sky, and red rips across the horizon like a drop of blood spreading through water. Scout slows but trudges onward. The water rises again, pulling you under. You spin, unsure which direction is up. Scout’s paw grips your hand and drags you to the surface. The sky is black and lit with a thousand stars. The water churns; there is a broad, shadowy form beneath the surface. You follow Scout hastily as she paddles to a solitary island. You crawl ashore and dry yourself with a simple spell. There is a door on the beach. Scout bangs her staff against it, and it creaks open. A warm light burns inside. You thank Scout and step inside. </p><p>Your vision takes a moment to adjust; there’s shattered glass and black feathers scattered across the floor. You recognize this place: The Hanged Raven: Julian’s old haunt. The floors are sticky with alcohol; there are empty tankards stacked on the tables. There’s a flutter in the rafters, you glance up and gasp. A tall, humanoid shape is crouched on a beam. It drops with alarming speed and rises before you. </p><p>Shock addles you. Words dart beyond your reach like shimmering fish. All notions have been blotted out, and his name rises to the top. Julian. Feathers are sprouting out of his head; and down his arms and abdomen. His hands are scaly and clawed. His legs are bent at an unnatural angle. It pains you to look at him. To imagine his bones shifting slowly— or worse: all at once—and the feathers tunnelling out of his skin. </p><p>“That’s a good likeness. Tell the Devil he’s getting better,” he says. His voice is light, but there’s an undercurrent of weariness. He turns and looks into a cracked mirror on the wall. His brow furrows. He watches you in the reflection.  </p><p>You find your tongue: “You don’t think I’m real?”</p><p>He chuckles. “Sorry, friend, I’ve been played too many times to bite. But, you’re welcome to stay, it’s been a while since I’ve had company.”</p><p>“How long?” Your voice is hoarse. </p><p>Julian looks down at his hands. He shrugs, “Who knows? There’s no way to tell. There’s no barkeep to keep a tab on my drinks, so I gave up counting those.”</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” you say, taking a step towards him.</p><p>He turns and looks down at you, curiosity plain on his face. “What for?”</p><p>“For taking so long.”</p><p>He shrugs again. “The Devil can’t have made you that long ago. Take a seat. We’ll have a drink.”</p><p>You scan through your memories for something private and convincing. “Julian, I’m real. </p><p>Remember the night in the garden?”</p><p>His eyes widen his body tenses. “The night we ran from the guards?”</p><p>“Yes, Julian, and you picked a flower and put it in my hair. You said it destroyed tyrants-”</p><p>“And kings.” He takes a step toward you.</p><p>You allow yourself to hope. </p><p>“This isn’t real.” He says it under his breath. A hundred thoughts are warring in his gaze. </p><p>“I’m here.” You reach out and touch his cheek.</p><p>He bristles and tumbles back, a hiss escaping his lips. You stare at him, pained and confused.</p><p>Something moves under his skin: a streak of lurid red under the pale flesh.</p><p>“Don’t you see I’m a monster?” A feather sprouts from his back, and he rips it out in frustration. A trickle of blood trails down his shoulder blade. “Every time I fought against the Devil, a piece of me died.” He draws closer and bends at the waist to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry; I should have waited for you, but I saw your face again and again, and I never knew if it was real. I couldn’t take it.”</p><p>“This isn’t your fault.”</p><p>“I made a deal, I kept breaking the rules.” He sighs, and glares at one in the multitudes of reflections of his face. “And yet, I wasn’t strong enough to get away.”</p><p>“Julian I tried to find you, and I failed. Over and over, I failed you. I’m so sorry, but I’m here now.” You reach out tentatively, “I love you.”</p><p>He scoffs. “How can you be sure?” </p><p>He softens at your wounded expression: “I’m so ashamed. There were times I forgot your face, your name, I clung to scraps of you. I’m not who I was. He’s broken me”</p><p>“Listen to me. I loved you every second we were apart, and I will learn who you are now, and love the man you’ve become. I see you,” you say, your voice growing confident, “I would know you anywhere. I searched, and I’ve found you, and I won’t leave you.”</p><p>Julian’s shoulders hunch. He curls and clutches his stomach, shrinking. You see an opportunity and seize it: you rush forward and gather him in your arms. He balks, but you hold him tighter. He looks up at you, and you plant kisses on his temples, his eyelids, and finally, his lips. He melts into you, clutching at your back. You gasp against his mouth. He pulls away, spins you around, and pulls up the back of your shirt. The air hits the scratches, and they sting angrily. </p><p>“Damn it all, I’m so sorry, I-”</p><p>You turn and press your fingers to his lips. “Don’t stop.”</p><p>His eyebrows raise. He straightens and grasps one of your hands in his. “I don’t want to hurt you.”</p><p>“Why not? I’m starting to see what you see in it.”</p><p>A grin spreads across his face. It’s crooked, and distinctly Julian. He tentatively grips your sides, his talons pressing into your ribs. You kiss him, harder and deeper. He gasps your name between ragged breaths and hooks his hands under your knees. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he lifts and places you onto a table. </p><p>“I love you,” you whisper into the feathers sprouting from his cheeks.</p><p>“I love you too, always,” he says. He pulls away and looks into your eyes, intently, “What should </p><p>I do?” he asks quietly. </p><p>You smile, “Whatever you want, as long as you touch me.”</p><p>He kneels, kissing down your body, pushing and tugging your garments aside. He teases up your thighs, but he’s far too impatient to torment you for long. You wrap around him, bending and reaching with eager hands to explore his new body. Your mind was a hive of stinging thoughts before you found him. Now, you’re consumed: there’s only his tongue, saliva, breath, skin. He thrills under the bite of your nails on his shoulder blades. </p><p>In the end, your thighs vibrate. Each brush of his skin leaves a circle of flesh that hums acutely, like the resonation of a tuning fork, as he pulls himself up to kiss your swollen lips. He pulls a tablecloth from a chest and lays it on the table before wrapping you in his arms and holding you against his chest. You sense the invisible bonds twined around him: his deal with the Devil.</p><p>“Let me break these.” </p><p>He tenses, his half-lidded eyes fly open. “No, my dear, my deal with the devil is what keeps you safe.”</p><p>“It’s not just the Devil, Julian. What does he care about me now? He got what he wanted. It’s the world we have to worry about, other people.”</p><p>“I can protect you now,” he muses, “Monsters fear other monsters.”</p><p>You sigh. “You’re not-”</p><p>He chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head. “Stay with me. Here. I can protect you.”</p><p>“Of course I’ll stay with you,” you say, looking up at him. “But we should find the others.”</p><p>He opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates. </p><p>“Pasha, for one,” you continue.</p><p>He winces. “Do you think she’d want to see me?” His voice is thick. </p><p>“Yes, she loves you, that hasn’t changed. Asra would want to see you, I’m sure, and Mazelinka. Nadia as well, I’m sure she still feels bad for nearly hanging you.”</p><p>“You think so?”</p><p>“I know so.”</p><p>He considers, resting his mouth against your forehead, and nods. “Okay, we’ll look for them.”</p><p>“It’s difficult to navigate out there, but I may be able to feel for alcoves —places of calm—along the way. This place and my shop seem relatively stable, after all.”</p><p>“I’m by far the most unstable thing in this place.” He chuckles at his own joke, and then stares into the distance thoughtfully. “We could do it. I believe in you.”</p><p>You snuggle into his chest, a smile creeps across your lips. “We shouldn’t keep Scout waiting.”</p><p>Julian sighs.</p><p>“We have eternity, darling,” you say.</p><p>He smiles. “We really do, don’t we?”</p>
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